behind closed doors

The cool timber of the door pressed against my forehead, yet inside my skull the heat raged out of control.

Out in the living room, the low bass of a slow R&B track thudded down the hallway. The vibrations traveled through the floorboards straight into my knees, creeping up my shins, making the rigid resin cage tremble with every beat. Fourteen days without the faintest release had turned every nerve ending into exposed wire. Each tiny flare, each surge of blood struck hard against the unyielding shell. The constriction choked the breath from my lungs, throbbing in lockstep with my pulse and burning deep into my pelvic bones.

I closed my eyes, but the dark only made it worse. My hearing strained to the breaking point, starved for every sound drifting through the wood.

A deep, throaty laugh from Timo. Then the faint metallic rattle of a belt buckle, followed by the dull slap of heavy denim dropping to the parquet. For a moment the bass drowned out the rest, but then the volume dipped, as if dialed back, leaving the sounds in the corridor cuttingly distinct.

The rhythmic, heavy creak of the old sofa springs took over.

And then it cut through the gap beneath the door: a ragged, drawn-out moan from Loona. Not the quiet, measured sigh she had directed at me the night before, but an unfiltered, breathless sound drawn straight from her throat.

My stomach knotted so violently that the air caught in my chest. My head rested lightly against the timber. The images forced their way into my thoughts with brutal clarity: Timo’s broad hands digging into her hips, his weight over hers, the sheen of sweat on his skin. The very couch where I had knelt the previous evening, blindly serving her pleasure, was entirely his now. Effortless. Unquestioned. And I had personally assured him I had no objection. I had smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and signed my own sentence.

"Yes… right there…," her voice drifted down the hall, broken by another trembling sigh that cut straight to the core.

A strangled whimper slipped from my throat. A wave of cold revulsion and sharp shame surged through me. I loathed myself for the cowardice, for how easily I had surrendered every last scrap of pride. Yet right beneath that self-disgust ran a dark, unrelenting undercurrent. The thought of the key. The image of that small piece of brass resting in Loona’s pocket.

*As soon as he leaves. The moment the front door clicks shut.*

That promise hung like a beacon in my mind. Clenching both hands into the denim over my thighs, I bit my lower lip until I tasted the faint copper of blood. The throbbing between my legs turned to pure torture; the base ring bit mercilessly into my pubic bone, while outside the rhythm accelerated, punctuated by Timo’s heavy panting and Loona’s rapid, breathless cries.

My body strained against the restraint, crying out for a relief strictly denied to it. I was trapped in this small room, exiled like a mute ghost, while outside my best friend lived out the life kept beyond my reach. Every second stretched like heavy tar. I wanted it to end. I wanted to kick the door down, wanted to scream—and at the exact same moment, I quietly prayed that Timo would finish soon, so I could drop to my knees and claim the release for which I had sold my soul.